"Are you going too?" Lutchester inquired. "Shall I? Well, I am not really sure," she declared, as they reached the little wooden dock. "I suppose I shall, especially if I can find something to do. I may even turn nurse."
"You will be able to find plenty to do," he assured her. "If nothing else turns up, you can help me."
They stepped on to the yacht. Pamela, a radiant vision in white, with white flannel skirt, white jersey and tam-o'-shanter, took the helm, and was busy for a few moments getting clear. Afterwards she leaned back amongst the cushions, with Lutchester by her side.
"In the agitation of missing that buoy," he reminded her, "you forgot to answer my last suggestion."
"Is there any way in which I could help you?" she asked.
"You can help me in the greatest of all ways," he replied promptly. "You can give me just that help which only the woman who cares can give to the man who cares for her, and if that isn't exciting enough," he went on, after a moment's pause, "well, I dare say I can find you some work in the censor's department."
"Isn't censoring a little dull?" she murmured.
"Then you choose—"
Her hand slipped into his. A little breeze filled their sails at that moment. The wonderful blue water of the bay sparkled with a million gleams of sunshine. Lutchester drew a great breath of content.
"That's aunt on the landing-stage, watching us through her glasses,"
Pamela pointed out, making a feeble attempt to withdraw her hand.